


Until You

by Doctor_Gabriel_Sherlock_Potter, kinkisthenewblack



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, TW: drug use, Uni AU, lots of porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 13:24:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1859619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Gabriel_Sherlock_Potter/pseuds/Doctor_Gabriel_Sherlock_Potter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinkisthenewblack/pseuds/kinkisthenewblack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was originally an RP between me (Weaver) and Jim. Basically, we just decided on a Johnlock Uni AU, and started writing. Now, the RP is almost done, and I've started posting it here. I did a bit of editing (to make it easier to read and fix spelling, grammar, etc), but the story here is pretty much exactly the one we put together. This is what came out the other end, we hope you enjoy.</p><p>So, I've been having issues getting the convo off skype. I will be updating soon, though (I promise)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Pub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg Lestrade dragged his annoying flatmate, Sherlock Holmes, out to the pub for a drink. More specifically, he bribed him, then left with a girl. Sherlock catches a short blonde med student unawares and finds himself an unlikely friend.

"Greg, is this really necessary? I do not want to be here, I'm bored, and you’re ignoring me anyway. Why did you even bribe me to come along?" Sherlock Holmes hated pubs. They were full of piss-drunk idiots (almost as bad as sober idiots) and even worse: his classmates. He was surprised most of them could walk and breathe at the same time. His dorm mate, Greg, had bribed him into coming out tonight, something about using his 'arsehole behaviour' to pick up girls. Disgusting. He looked round to goad Greg into doing something interesting, only to find someone else standing in his place. He observed the newcomer: third-year medical student, short, blonde, Scottish heritage, was trying to get laid. Boring. Oh, wait. His stance- he was planning to go into the army, probably RAMC. Catching the gaze of his newest victim, he curled his lips in an approximation of a smile, "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

It had been a long day at the school, so John had agreed to go to the pub with his roommate Mike. However, he had left him as soon as they had arrived. Typical. He was standing in his own world, looking absentmindedly at the girls in the bar. Of course he wanted a girlfriend like almost every other student, but for some reason he never really got this sparkling feeling like everyone said. Maybe he just hadn't found the right girl yet? When a stranger came up to him and asked him a question, John was startled at first, "Excuse me, what?" He asked. That was not a normal question to receive at a pub.

"Afghanistan or Iraq? Do you know where you're headed yet?" God, they were slow, the lot of them. He wasn't bad-looking, this med student. "Uh, Afghanistan I think. How did you know?" John asked curiously. Why did this young man know about his plan of going into the military? He was quite good looking, really tall and with dark curls and a baritone voice.

"Your hands scream 'doctor', but you're barely older than I am so, med student. A medical student with a pseudo-military stance. You stand at parade rest, so you haven't been shipped off yet, but I'd bet you've had at least some basic training. Medical student plus army generally equals RAMC, which is in two places at the moment: Afghanistan and Iraq." John stared at him. That was unexpected. He tried to come up with some sort of intelligent response, but ended up just exclaiming "Wow. You got all that from looking at me? Amazing!" Sherlock blinked. Now he was definitely interested. "That's not what people usually say..." He tried to observe the shorter man better than he had, but couldn't seem to pick up on anything else.

"Really? What do people normally say?" John asked, how could people not find this extraordinary? The man had read him practically like an open book. A real smile crawled onto his features, "Piss off." He chuckled. John laughed. "Well I find it quite fascinating. How do you do it?"

"It's simple. I observe."

"Observe what exactly?"

"Everything. I read your chosen career in your hands and your stance, your heritage in your bone structure, your age in your face, and-" Sherlock broke off, unsure if he should say everything he had deduced. "And what?" John asked, curious to what this stranger had otherwise observed about his life story. "Come on! Share the good stuff!" Sherlock flushed scarlet, a rare occurrence, and got it all out in one breath, "And your sexuality in the way you were looking around when I walked up."

"Excuse me what?!" John said. "What do you mean my sexuality?!" Sherlock's eyes went wide. Oh. OH. He didn't know it himself. "Erm, y'know, looking at the girls." He smoothed his expression into a conspiratorial smirk, "It's a bit obvious you're looking to get laid. Well, obvious to me, anyway... Sorry if that came out wrong."

"I… I'm not looking to get laid!" John said and blushed deep red. He looked away from the other, this was simply not happening. Someone he didn't know had just told him he was looking for someone to have sex with.

Shitshitshitshitshit! "Every time... There's always one thing I get wrong, every single time. Dammit." Sherlock looked off to the side, half feigning frustration, half to hide his own embarrassment. How'd he fucked this up so quickly? "Ehm.. It was nice talking to you Mr…?" John didn't even know his name. It had been interesting to talk with him indeed, even though he had gotten a bit more information than he needed. "The name is Sherlock Holmes; the address is 221B Baker Street. In case you change your mind." With a smile, a wink, and a swish of his coat, Sherlock disappeared into the crowd.

Duh, what? One moment he had been there, and the next one he was gone. What the hell was that about? Being so mysterious all of a sudden... He tried looking for this Sherlock Holmes or whatever, but he couldn't find him. Eventually he had to go and get Mike to drag him back to their dorm.

The second Sherlock got into the flat he shared with Greg, he was assaulted by the sight of Greg shagging some girl on the sofa. Never mind, then. He grabbed his scarf, as it was getting chilly, and smoked at least three cigarettes on his walk to Bart's. He'd learned early on that he could easily break into Bart's morgue and experiment on the cadavers. The anatomy professor had even started setting aside unused body parts for "whoever had been breaking in".

* * *

John dropped Mike on the bed, suddenly remembering the homework he had to do. He went to get the books from his bag, but when he looked in it, the book he needed wasn't there. Dammit! He had forgotten it in the morgue when they were having practical lessons today. Great. He would have to go get it now. Hopefully the door would be open, sometimes you were lucky.

Sherlock picked the lock and looked at his watch. 15 seconds. Either he was out of practice or distracted. Wait... distracted? By what? The blonde med student? Ah, well, time to get to work. He removed his coat and scarf and dumped them on a table near the door. He kept the lights low; this was going to be a bloody one. He donned a plastic smock to prevent himself staining his clothes and got to work stabbing the severed arm a professor had left for him at three definite angles. If he did this right, the scalpel should go in, nick the bone, and come back out without snapping the tendon. He was so absorbed in his work; he stopped paying attention to the room around him.


	2. The Morgue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John forgot his book, and of course Sherlock found it. Just, not in the way he was expecting...

John arrived at Bart's and tried the door handle. It wasn't locked, how lucky! He stepped inside, finding his way to the morgue. A small beam of light was visible under the door, probably one of the pathologists working late or something. He went inside and was surprise to see the tall black-haired boy from earlier in the midst of dissecting a severed arm. What the hell was going on? "Hello? Sherlock?" He had remembered the stranger's name, simply because it was so odd.

Sherlock jumped, accidentally severing the tendon. "DAMMIT!" He turned to find the blonde one from earlier staring at him in what appeared to be shock. He looked down at himself and realized he was quite covered in blood. "Um. Why are you here?"

"I should be asking you the same question! I just came to get my book, but why the hell are you here? Covered in blood none the less! Is that even allowed?" He asked, walking closer to look properly at Sherlock.

"I- er, I broke in. The anatomy professor leaves unused limbs for me. As long as I don't mess with any cadavers, no one seems to mind too much." He shifted uncomfortably as the boy moved closer. He realized then he didn't even know his name.

"But I don't understand, why on earth would you want to? They're cadavers for heaven’s sake!" He stated, noting how Sherlock seemed to be nervous with him being there. Sherlock looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "How else would I complete my experiments? It's not like anyone living is volunteering..."

"Your… experiments? Experiments on what exactly?" This was really weird, why would anyone his age spent their free time experimenting on cadavers?

"Oh, um. Remember that triple murder that was all over the news a month ago? They thought a guy named Angelo did it. By running a few basic experiments, I was able to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was actually across town committing B&E. NSY caught the killer the next day, when he came to kill Angelo. He'd planned to make it look like a suicide, but NSY caught the guy red-handed, if you'll pardon the expression."

"That, and I'm bored." Sherlock shrugged. John just looked at him, completely in awe. "Was that you who figured that out?" He asked, not really believing what he had just heard. "And you're bored you say? Does that mean you do this for fun?"

"Of course I figured it out, you didn't think the idiots over at the Yard did? And not fun, precisely. Just, not boring, either."

"But they’re the police, it's their job after all? You're about the same age as me for god’s sake! How can you be smarter than the police?"

"What does age have to do with anything? Mycroft is twenty-two and practically runs the government."

"Who the hell is Mycroft? That's a strange name? Like Sherlock? Are you related or something?"

"My arch enemy. Unfortunately, he's also my broth- Hey! My name is not that strange!"

"Are you kidding me? Sherlock. I have never heard that name in my entire life.."

Sherlock suppressed the shiver that ran through him at the sound of his name in that voice. "It's not all that strange..."

"And why would I joke?"

"I dunno, I suppose not" John shrugged his shoulders. He could see that he had fucked up, so he tried to make amends by adding "Not that there is anything wrong with it of course! It's a cool name. I'm John." He stretched out his hand. Sherlock licked his lips as his eyes darted from the extended hand to the all-too-casual face and back, before peeling off his gore-splattered glove to shake hands. "John. I like it."

"It's not really special. It's pretty ordinary." John shook Sherlock's hand and gave him a smile. "So are you a med student too, since you're here?"

"No, applied chemistry." Sherlock moved the mauled arm to the proper bin and peeled off his gear. A glob of flesh stuck to his neck and he grimaced, wiping it off and sanitizing himself. "And... Sherlock isn't actually my first name, but I was named after my father, so I prefer Sherlock."

"I see, but chemistry? That's pretty heavy isn't it?” John asked. He seemed like a really smart guy, helping the police and taking chemistry. "Not really. The professor's an idiot. He misnamed half the basic principles of matter on the first day." Sherlock shrugged on his coat and wound his scarf around his neck. "Hungry?"

 "Uhh…" Was he asking him to dinner? But come to think of it, he was hungry. Well he was always hungry; it kind of went with being a young male. "Yes, you know somewhere good?"

"The best," Sherlock grinned wickedly and stood by the door. "Best get your book, then." John stopped and looked at him. "How did you know I forgot my book?" Sherlock held up a medical text, "PROPERTY OF JOHN H. WATSON" he read off the label. "There can't be too many Scottish Johns running around."

He didn't even want to ask how Sherlock knew he was Scottish, probably something with a rare genetic sign in his face or something. He took his book and followed Sherlock out of the door, so where is this place then?

Sherlock made it about two steps out the door before he burst out laughing. "You... told me," he gasped out between fits of giggles, "when you first walked in, I asked and... you said... you forgot your book." Sherlock was nearly on his knees from the effort of giggling so hard. John became bright red in the face. He had completely forgotten about that after talking to Sherlock. "Fine... yeah whatever" He said and looked down, walking a bit faster. Prat.

"Sorry, look, I'm sorry," Sherlock sobered abruptly and caught John by the arm. "Food's on me, okay?" John looked at him still slightly angry, but mostly because he was really embarrassed. He didn't want to make a fool of himself in front of this apparently super human smart genius. "Okay" He said and gave him a half-hearted smile.

Sherlock felt his brow furrow. He hadn't laughed in so long; he'd not realized he'd done something wrong. He took John by the elbow and dragged him into Angelo's, determined to make up for his mistake. John just followed Sherlock. He didn't really have a choice, the other was practically dragging him. After a short walk they arrived at a nice little restaurant called Angelo's. John had seen it, but he didn't have the money to eat there.

Upon entering, Sherlock braced for what he knew was coming. "SHERLOCK! Little genius!" Sherlock struggled, fruitlessly, against Angelo's bear-hug. "Ow, yes. Hi, Angelo. John, this is Angelo. He owns this place." Angelo swept John up in an equally exuberant hug. "Anything for you my friends. My best table!" It seems Angelo's family had paid bail, then. He was still awaiting trial for the burglary charges. Sherlock gestured to John to take a seat, and sat himself in the one catty corner to it. Angelo's 'best table' was actually a window seat. He slapped two menus down on the table and stuck a small glass jar with a tea light in dead centre of the table.

John was overwhelmed by the welcome, he hadn't expected that. "Is that the Angelo you freed from murder charges?" He asked when they were left alone to figure out what they wanted to eat. Judging by the welcome, Sherlock definitely knew the guy. Sherlock grimaced, "Yes." Angelo was eying them, clearly deciding that this was a date. Shit.

"Cool" John had seen how Angelo had looked at them before placing the candle on the table, but he thought no further of it. They were just here as friends, if they even were friends? They'd only just met after all. Angelo skipped back over to the table, "What can I get for my good friend?" "Linguini with pesto and feta, please," Sherlock managed a smile. Angelo turned to John, "And his date?" FUCK

"Yeah... we're not… I'm not his date!" John said, blushing bright red anyway. "And I'll have the same..." He added, trying to sound casual, which didn't really work. Angelo left and John looked at Sherlock "Well that was... awkward. Why did he assume we're a couple?"

Becauseheknowsme. Don't say it don't say it, "Because he knows me." Hell. "What do you mean? He knows you? Does that mean that you... I mean do you like... guys?" Shitshitshit, he had not just said that. Trying to save it he added "Uhm... not that there is anything wrong with it of course… It's completely... fine?" Oh very smooth John. Very smooth indeed. "I, yeah. Guys." Sherlock looked at his lap, the word FREAK dancing in his vision.

"Oh... Well that's nice. Do you... have anyone then?" John asked and smiled, he had nothing against homosexuals; his own sister currently had a girlfriend. "No, um, people tend to avoid me," Sherlock tried to smile, he really did. John seemed nice, but he was clearly in denial about being bisexual, and Sherlock doubted he'd have the privilege of seeing John be himself. "Unattached. Like me then. Great." John said. Fuck, that came out wrong.

Lost in thought, Sherlock didn't think anything of it. As soon as the words filtered into his Mind Palace, his eyes widened. "Are- are you..." at that moment, Angelo plopped two plates of food down in front of them. As soon as Angelo had left John blurted out "No, no. I'm... I wasn't suggesting anything. I don't swing that way..." He looked down at his food and started eating to occupy himself with something.

Sherlock abruptly bit his lip so hard it bled. This is why you can't let yourself hope. "I, uh, I didn't think you were. I never forget something I've gotten wrong. At the pub, I was wrong about.... which way you... swing. I remember that."

"Don't worry about that... It's fine really." John assured him with a smile. "But did you think that I was… I mean into guys?"

"Not exclusively, no. I thought you were into both."

"Uhm... I have never thought about that... But I wouldn't think so?"

Sherlock pushed the food around his plate. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why had he even opened his mouth in the first place? "Well, like I said, there's always one thing I get wrong..."


	3. Learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets to talk to Sherlock properly, and finds out a bit more than he expected.

"Well I think what you did was quite extraordinary! I mean you practically read my whole life story in what? Ten seconds?! Besides you’re nice to talk to, so..." John shrugged; he kind of liked this Sherlock guy, as a friend of course. "But you don't seem like the type who likes to spend time with other people?" This one was quick. "I'm not," he said, barely above a whisper.

"Why not? I mean you’re nice enough? So how come you don't spend time with others?"

"People don't like me much."

"Why not?! I mean what you do, it's amazing!" And John really meant it, he had been stunned by his talent at the pub.

"I don't know why," Sherlock smiled sadly. "No one ever has. Mycroft's the same. I think it's because we're too different."

"I can be your friend if you want? That would be really cool!"

Sherlock looked at him in confusion. "Erm, okay? That... I would be amenable to that. Thank you."

"Well that's nice" John gave him a huge smile. "But you won't tell me you've never had a friend before?"

Sherlock smiled slightly, "Redbeard."

"Who's Redbeard?"

"He was my dog."

"Oh how nice. But I meant human friends"

"There's a skull on my mantelpiece named Billy..."

"A skull..? But he isn't exactly alive is he?"

"No, but he listens when I think aloud and doesn't cloud the room with stupid, so."

Sherlock perked up a bit, "Want to meet him?"

"I... ehm... would love to? But you're not seriously telling me you've never had a human friend before?"

"That is precisely what I'm telling you, though I still think Billy counts. He might be dead, but he's still genetically human..."

John was getting quite curious now, how could he never have had a human friend? "What about that fella you arrived with at the pub?" He tried.

Oh, god. "Greg Lestrade, my unfortunate flatmate."

"Your flatmate? But why is he unfortunate? He seemed nice enough?"

"He's an utter man whore."

"Man whore? What is that supposed to mean?"

"Meaning if it has two legs and tits, he's chasing it... I ended up in the morgue tonight because I got home from the pub to find some rather unpleasant.... business... happening on my sofa. "

"Ahh okay I see. Well I feel sorry for you. My roommate just ends up drunk most of the time, making it my job to carry him home."

Sherlock smiled, "Do you ever mess with him when he passes out?"

"What?! Mess with him?! How?"

"Once Greg got pissed, so I carried him to the morgue, stripped him naked, put him on a slab & gave him a toe tag. I heard it caused quite a riot..."

John nearly choked on his food and started laughing. "You... You really did that?!"

"It was the fifth time that week. I had to teach him a lesson somehow..."

"That is the most hilarious thing I have ever heard!"

"Apparently, the alcohol had repressed his respiration rate far enough that the anatomy professor mistook him for a fresh cadaver and started to prep him for dissection when he woke up screaming."

John was cramping from laughter now. "I don't suppose you got too popular after that"

Sherlock chuckled, "He doesn't know it was me."

 "What?! How can you keep something like that a secret?!"

"He's friends with this bloke Phillip Anderson, slimy bastard that one, who has an internship in the morgue. He just figured it was him. The row was spectacular."

"And you just stood and watched?! I can't believe it! Honestly that's the best thing I have ever heard!"

"I didn't have to watch, I could hear the screaming from the cafe downstairs."

"If you say more I think I'm gonna choke!"

 Sherlock grinned wickedly, "Please don't, it would make a terrible mess."

 "Seriously, this is too much! I haven't laughed this much in years!"

"Really?"

"Yes, Mike is nice enough, but he's not that much fun

"Well, come meet Billy, then. Maybe you can get Greg to tell you the story from his end." Sherlock stuck a few bills on the table and stood, winding his scarf.

"Okay, but are you sure I shouldn't at least pay for my meal?"

"I told you. Dinner's on me."

"Oh, are you sure?" John didn't want Sherlock to think that he was poor or anything. Okay, he didn't have much money, but he wasn't poor.

"I never say anything I don't mean," Sherlock flagged down a cab and asked for Speedy's Cafe on Baker Street.

"You have a flat? How can you afford a proper flat?"

"The land lady, Mrs. Hudson, owes me a favor." He stepped out at Speedy's and paid the cabbie.

"I wish I could afford one. Those rooms at the Uni aren't really worth talking about..."

"This was a bit of a singular occurrence... Mr. Hudson was slated for execution."

John looked at him eyes widened "Execution?"

"For blowing some bloke's head off. I took the case, of course."

"Okay, I don't even want to ask. But you're studying? How can you have time for taking cases?"

"I read the books at the beginning of the year, complete coursework when required, and work on other things during lecture hours."

"How can you manage all that? I would break. I can barely handle doing my homework... Which I now you mention it haven't done yet..."

"Because you're an idiot."

"Excuse me?! I'm a what?"

"No, no, no, don't be like that, nearly everyone is."

"What do you mean? I don't understand?"

"Do you know your IQ?"

"No…? Why should I?"

"Mine is 190. Mycroft's is higher. The average is about 160."

"But what does it matter?"

"It means that nearly everyone is an idiot to us."

"If you recall, I did say that you're exceptionally less stupid than the masses."

"No, but it's not exactly nice to be called an idiot!" John could feel his temper rising. "You know, I kind of start to get why you don't have any friends"

John looked about two seconds away from decking him. Okay, one try to fix this or risk a broken nose... "I told you people don't like me." He braced for the coming blow...

"Maybe that's because you call them idiots?!" John looked at Sherlock, how come a genius like him couldn't even understand these very basic social things.

"If they don't want to be called idiots, maybe they shouldn't act like idiots!"

"Oh well I'm sorry to have interfered in your super human world of perfection! Maybe I should just leave?!"

"No, John, please wait. I'm sorry."

John was already on the way out, but he turned around at Sherlock's words. "I'm listening"

"I guess it sounded better... less offensive, I mean, in my head. I'm sorry."

John rolled his eyes. "Well maybe you should think a bit before you start talking then"

"I did think.... my best friend is a skull, remember?"

A sudden sympathy filled John. This man had never had a friend before, so he probably wasn't really good at the whole social aspect. "Right, I'm sorry. Maybe I overreacted, but people don't exactly enjoy being called idiots you know?"

"Flip... your shit...?"

"Yes, you know... Get angry and yell at you..."

"Oh, I've never heard that particular colloquialism."

"You've never heard that particular what?"

"Colloquialism. Term."

"Meaning?"

"I just told you."

"Oh... Oh I understand..." John felt so stupid for not having realized that Sherlock had actually told him the answer.

At that moment, Mrs. Hudson arrived at the door, "Did you forget your key again, Sherlock? Come on, then. In you go."

Sherlock glanced to John and went inside, up the stairs, and into the disaster area that was the sitting room.

John took a good look around. It was messy, but he didn't really mind, it still looked a lot nicer than his small room.

"So, um. Go ahead and have a seat. That's Billy on the mantel. Um, on second thought, don't sit on the sofa, no telling what's on there. Take my chair." He gestured at the modern green thing.

John shot a weird glance at Sherlock, but didn't pursue it further. Instead he sat down in the chair and said "So did you live here with that Greg guy or?"

At that moment, said 'Greg guy' stumbled down the stairs in his pants. "Hullo Sherlock; hullo Sherlock's date." He made it to the bathroom seconds before sounds of retching came floating back. "I think that answers your question..." Sherlock was mortified.

"Why the hell does everyone assume I'm your date? Oh whatever... You think we should help the guy? I mean, he doesn't sound very good..?" John had a natural need to help everyone, who seemed like they needed it.

"Nah, he drank too much. I swear he has no tolerance whatsoever. He doesn't seem able to build his tolerance, either. He'll be fine in a few minutes."

"But still…" John said, unsure of what to do. "I think I'm going to check up on him.." He got up from the chair and went to the bathroom. The boy was a mess, heaving over the toilet. John placed a gentle hand on his back and waited for him to finish, before helping him clean his face and practically drag him back to bed. Here he fetched him a glass of water and a bowl, telling him to keep hydrated and stay in the bed. Greg had looked at him half in surprise, but also he seemed to be really grateful, and that was why John enjoyed helping others. After having made sure Greg was all right he went back to Sherlock and sat down in the chair.

Sherlock was staring out the window with his back to the room, "You'll make a very good doctor, John Watson." No one had ever cared for him like that. He was a Holmes, which meant he took care of himself. Suddenly, he felt very alone.

John blushed, it was something no one had ever told him so straightforward, and it made his heart flutter. "Thank you, I can't help it, I just need to help people if I can."

Sherlock knew he was beyond help. "There are many things we can't help," he murmured, half to himself.

"What do you mean?" John had noticed the distant tone in Sherlock's voice, and he couldn't help but wonder why it was there.

Sherlock blinked. "Nothing, I was just thinking. Look, there was something I forgot to do. I have to go." His skin itched and it felt like his veins were alive. He needed it. Now.

"Oh okay... I'm just gonna… see myself out then?"

"I'll follow you out." He grabbed his key off the hook and opened the door to the stairs.

"Thank you" John followed Sherlock down the stairs; he couldn't help but think that there was something not quite right about this.

Sherlock locked up behind them. "Well, it was nice. Maybe we can 'hang out' another time?" Sherlock forced a smile, turned, and walked away, leaving John standing in the street.


	4. Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holding on is hard. Especially when the one you're hold on to really just wants to drown.

Okay this was really weird. Why was he acting so strange and mysterious all of a sudden? Not that he hadn't acted strange and mysterious before, but this was different somehow, this was not right. He considered going home, but in the end curiosity got the better of him and he walked quietly down the street, being able to just see Sherlock in front of him.

Sherlock walked quickly, entirely focused on where he was going. After a few minutes, he found what he was looking for: a shoddy little pub with a dark alley directly next to it. He strode into the alley and knocked a code onto a steel reinforced door set into the brick. His 'friend' came out to meet him, handing him a small box roughly the size of a cigar case. He paid the man and set off deeper into the alley. He passed Vivienne, one of the homeless he knew, and handed her a small bottle of spirits to buy her silence.

As he followed Sherlock into the dark alley, his stomach curled into a tight not. There was something very wrong about this. He passed a homeless drinking spirits directly from the bottle, but he didn't have time to stop, instead he walked further into the alley.

Sherlock found a spot under some emergency stairs. Vivienne had handed him a roll up mattress, which he now spread out and sat on, removing his coat, jacket, and scarf. He opened his box and his mind calmed a little. The taunts and voices were still there, 'freak' 'can't help it' 'FREAK' 'arsehole', but they would soon be silenced. He poured a bit of powder onto a spoon, spat into it, and held a lighter underneath until the concoction bubbled. He sucked it up in a needle (clean, of course) and tied off his arm with a shoelace from the box. The needle slid under his skin easily, and the plunger went down smoothly. Perfection. His heroin was his perfection.

John walked around in the alley, but he had somehow lost track of Sherlock. He looked everywhere and had almost given up when he saw someone sitting under the emergency stairs. "Sherlock?" He asked tentatively.

He was so wonderfully dizzy. It was the first time he hadn't measured down to the millionth of a gram, and he was flying. He thought he heard his name, but no one knew him here, so it must have been his mind.

John moved closer. "Sherlock?" He asked again. Still no answer. He moved closer to the person sitting under the stairs. When he was a couple of meters away he recognized the black curls. "Sherlock?! Why the hell are you not answering when I'm…" And then he spotted it: the needle in his arm. No, this could not be happening! He ran over to Sherlock and shook him. "Sherlock?!"

"Hmmph..." someone was shaking him. Why couldn't he just have this to himself? His body wouldn't move when he told it to, though, so he remained where we was, slumped against the wall, eyes unfocused.

Shitshitshitshitshit. No way was this happening! He had to do something. He shook Sherlock again, harder this time "SHERLOCK?! Please Sherlock look at me!" He took out the needle and threw it on the ground. "Oh Sherlock what have you done to yourself?"

He could hear a voice, reaching out to him through the fog, but he couldn't respond. His mind supplied, 'John', but he didn't know if he could make any sound. The voice sounded so sad. Oh. He must be hallucinating. John went home. How interesting that John would show up in his drugged haze of insanity. Perhaps it was wishful thinking?

John could feel tears in his eyes, but he really didn't have time to cry right now. Why was he being so sentimental about this anyway? He had only just met the guy. He forced his brain to think straight and try and remember what he knew about treating overdoses. John opened Sherlock's eyelids and looked into his eyes, the pupils were huge. Shit.

Suddenly, there was light, and his John hallucination was leaning over him, though blurry. The John hallucination had tears on its cheeks. Why was it crying? What reason would a hallucination have to cry?

John's medical training kicked in and after having checked whether Sherlock was breathing, which fortunately he was, and then he placed him in the recovery position. "Oh Sherlock, please hold on!"

He found his cellphone in his pocket and called 999.

His body was moving. Strange. He must be falling. He grabbed hold of the hallucination's wrist and pulled it down with him, finding just enough strength in his limbs to push himself against it and plant a kiss directly on its lips. If he was going to die or go mad, he could at least take this false memory with him.

It was ironic that his first kiss was with a hallucination...

John was surprised when Sherlock pulled him down into a kiss, but he had to admit that he quite enjoyed it, if it wasn't for Sherlock being half unconscious of course. He stroked those damp black curls talking soothingly to the other boy, constantly making sure he was still breathing. Please, couldn't that ambulance just arrive bloody soon?

Sherlock just barely managed a contented hum against those soft, soft lips before the darkness came for him. He let himself be swept away as he felt his body go limp.

John felt Sherlock go slack in his arms, he wasn't breathing. No fucking way was he going to let that bastard get away with kissing him and then dying. No way in fucking hell. He ripped open the tight shirt Sherlock was wearing and started doing CPR. 30 compressions; 2 blows of air; 30 compressions; 2 blows of air. The ambulance arrived.

***

His chest hurt. Actually, everything hurt, but he could feel a sticky gel and bandages on his chest. He carefully inhaled through his nose. Burn gel? Oh. He had overdosed. Someone must have found him and called 999. Hospital, then. He gently flexed his arms, only to find an IV in one arm and a bandage on the other. He risked opening his eyes, only to slam them shut again when the blinding fluorescent light overloaded his brain. He groaned.

In the time Sherlock had been unconscious, John hadn't left his side. For some reason he had been crying, so when he finally started to move, John sighed with relief. He took Sherlock's hand and held it gently "Come on Sherlock, please! Please, please wake up!"

"No, it's too damned bright out there." He snarked back at the voice, while still letting them know he was alive.

John was slightly taken aback when Sherlock spoke, he hadn't expected that, but damn did he feel relieved. "Okay… okay I understand, just.." His voice broke when a fresh stream of tears ran down his cheeks, but this time they were from the pure relief.

Sherlock felt his brow furrow in confusion, was that John's voice? When he cracked open his eyes to have a look, a very real John Watson stood there, holding his hand, /crying/. His eyes widened of their own accord and he struggled to sit up. "John?" His throat was dry and his voice hoarse, but this time he was sure he'd made sound.

John gently pushed him back down onto the pillows. "You shouldn't move too much." He noted the hoarseness in his voice and handed him a glass of water.

Sherlock fell back with a grunt of pain and gratefully accepted the water. "Thank you. How did you know I was here? Did Greg tell you? I'm sure Mycroft's had the flat turned upside down by now..."

"I uhhh..." Should he tell him? Hell he probably would figure it out at some point anyway. "I... ehm... I was the one who found you, actually."

Sherlock stared. The hallucination... hadn't been a hallucination? He'd- Oh, God, the kiss. His hand flew to his mouth as suddenly the skin of his lips felt too warm. He'd kissed the real John Watson and hadn't even known it.

His fingertips on his lips were dry and cool, an interesting contrast.

John decided not to mention the kiss. Not yet anyway. There was much more pressing matters. "Why did you do it? Why did you overdose?"

"I- I didn't mean to," he looked a bit sheepish, "I just forgot to measure."

"You forgot to measure? Does that mean you're taking drugs regularly?!"

Shit. "Well..." he really, really didn't want to answer that question, but he supposed he owed an explanation to John. He'd likely saved his life, after all. "Only when I need my mind to stop."

"But, why? Your mind is so brilliant? Why would you ever want that to stop?" He was torn between anger and deep sadness for this boy. He decided that he couldn't be angry with him, not right now.

Sherlock read the anger in the set of John's jaw and was suddenly ashamed. His face heated and he looked down to hide the escaping tears. "I just do," he whispered.

"Don't you ever do that again! Please? I don't know why, but when I thought I had lost you, something in me broke, even though I have only just met you. Please will you promise me?" John sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Sherlock in for a gently hug, so he wouldn't aggravate anything.

Despite his shock, Sherlock's arms came up and held John to him, and suddenly he was gasping, sobbing, the years of pent up pain flowing out now that someone dared get close to him. "I promise. I promise..."

John put a hand in his hair and stroked it lightly. He wanted to help him, he really wanted to genuinely help him get through this mess, and he had already made up his mind that he was not gonna stand and watch this genius boy ruin his life. "I'm gonna help you, you hear me! You don't have to do this alone."

"I'm sorry."

"I know. I know, and I won't leave you, it's a promise." He was now rocking back and forth, trying to calm Sherlock down.


	5. Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's recovery, and John begins to wonder if Sherlock really did get anything wrong, that first night...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one, sorry. I'm trying to keep it broken up in about the same way the RP was set.

The next two weeks were miserable. After having a row or three with Mycroft, he was discharged and John marched him directly to his flat to detox him. He'd no idea why this boy, who was nearly a stranger, was willing to put up with the screaming, the pain, the vomiting, but he stayed, except to go to his classes, even making Sherlock eat and stay hydrated, even though it all came back up anyway.

John had made a promise, and he was determined to keep it, no matter what it took. He slept on a mattress on the floor in Sherlock's room, so he was close by if anything happened during the night, which something always did. Whether it was vomiting or pain or nightmares, John was there. He would hold the bucket for him and place a soothing hand on his back. He would get him painkillers and even hug him when he needed it, which seemed to be quite often. John didn't mind though, it also calmed him down to know that Sherlock was still alive.

That night he woke to a crying and shaking Sherlock. He was up from the floor in no time putting a soothing hand on his back, waiting for Sherlock to make a move and hug him if he needed that, but he knew better than "surprise hugging" him.

Everything still hurt, but less than it had a week ago. He woke from a dream that John had been shot, and curled into himself, sobbing. Moments later, there was a hand on his back, and he pulled the boy into bed with him, curling against that strong chest as his tears dried. John was alive, and here, with him.

"Sh, it's okay" John whispered and wrapped his arms around Sherlock. "Nightmare?" He simply asked, he never asked what they were about, he figured that it would be too personal or at least uncomfortable to talk about.

Sherlock nodded, too embarrassed to tell him that every nightmare he had was about losing John in one way or another, and pulled himself closer to John. He was still shaking slightly, but it was slowly abating.

"You need to sleep" John stated, Sherlock needed all the rest he could get, but somehow John doubted he would be able to do it if he went back to the mattress on the floor. "Do you want me to stay here with you?"

His breath hitched. John had offered to sleep in his bed. With him in it. His mouth went dry, too dry to talk, so he just nodded.

"Okay," John pulled up the blanket and wrapped it around them both before he once again put his arms around Sherlock, pulling him into a tight embrace. It was actually much better than it should be, but he couldn't think about that right now.

He felt John's heart rate pick up, and his matched the pace. What was John thinking that had his pulse rate going so fast?

"Sherlock. You're thinking. You need to sleep." John stated, forcing himself to relax as well, which was damn near impossible.

"How can you tell," He asked, slightly breathless

"Because you're not at all heavy enough for a person who's sleeping. That, and your breath is slightly rapid."

"Hm. Yours is, as well. And your heart rate is through the roof."

Sherlock raised himself on his elbow to look John directly in the face.

"I am nervous… But this isn't about me okay?"

Fuck it. Sherlock leaned in and captured John's mouth with his own. All the signs were there, he just hoped he had read them correctly.

John was surprised by this, but somehow it didn't feel wrong. Then again he couldn't figure out what to think. After a few seconds he broke it and got up. "I... I think I need to clear my head."

"Right, sorry. Of course. I'm just going to sleep." He rolled over. He'd been wrong. Again. He'd let himself hope and now he felt like he was being torn apart. As soon as the door closed behind John, he rolled back over and stood to get dressed.

John sat down in the chair and placed his head in his hands. It hadn't felt wrong to kiss him, it had actually never felt better to kiss anyone, but he couldn't understand it. Sherlock was a guy. John had never considered it a possibility for him to be into guys before. Could he be gay? Or bi at least?

Sherlock dressed himself slowly, careful not to make too much noise. He cranked open his window and took the fire escape to the street. Half an hour and one shouting match later, he was bedding down on Mycroft's couch.

This time, he didn't bother trying to stop the tears.

John had made up his mind, guy or not, he wanted Sherlock. Hell thinking about it he had probably wanted him from the first day. This guy was special and that was the reason why John had been so upset when he had found him under those stairs and been so determined to take care of him. He got up and went back to Sherlock's room, trying not to make too much noise in case he was asleep. When he found the bed empty and the window open, he felt a rising panic. His first thought was overdose. Not bothering to get proper dressed, he grabbed his jacket, ran down the stairs and out the front door. He had to find him, if he had to search the entire night.

Unbeknownst to Sherlock, Mycroft had figured out exactly what had happened, and sent Anthea out with a car to fetch this John Watson character.


	6. Revive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding Sherlock.

John was wandering around London, calling Sherlock's name desperately out into the night. He had tears streaming down his face and a tight knot in his chest, he could not lose him. He simply couldn't.

A black car pulled up beside John. Anthea texted Mycroft: FOUND HIM. YOU WERE RIGHT, THE KID'S A WRECK.

She opened the passenger door, "Get in."

"I'm sorry, I don't have time. I'm looking for someone" John kept walking; he really had to find Sherlock before it was too late.

"If you're looking for Sherlock Holmes, I can take you to him," she shouted, not bothering to go after him.

At this John turned around. "How did you know I was looking for him?"

"Get in the car, John Watson."

John briefly considered not going, but if she really could take him to Sherlock then he would have to take this opportunity. He got into the passenger seat and closed the door after him.

Anthea drove straight to Mycroft's, ignoring the boy's feeble attempts to find out where they were going. Upon arriving, she parked in front of the door and texted Mycroft of their arrival.

John slowly opened the car door and looked at the huge mansion in front of him. How could Sherlock possibly be here?

A rather dapper man awaited him on the other side of the door. He introduced himself as Mycroft Holmes, told John more of his own life story than Sherlock had, then levelled with him, "My brother showed up here, heartbroken, because of something that happened at his flat. I'd bet my job that you had something to do with it. Tell me."

"It's none of your damn business! Now where is he?! I need to see him now!" John frankly couldn't care less if his man was the Queen of England; he just had to make sure that Sherlock was alright.

Mycroft sighed and gestured to the closed door to the sitting room, "Through there."

"Thank you" John said and almost ran through the door where he found Sherlock lying fully awake on the couch with tears streaming down his face. John rushed over to him and pulled him into a tight hug. "I thought I had lost you!"

Sherlock was so shocked he couldn't move. "What... How did you... Why?"

"I have been looking for you ever since I realized you had run away. You can't just do that! Understood?! I was so scared!" John himself was crying too, hugging Sherlock to the point where it had to at least be a bit difficult to breathe.

Sherlock hissed, the pressure on his still-burnt ribs too much, and held John in return. "I promised I wouldn't do that again... so I came here instead. But... why were you looking for me?"

John heard Sherlock hiss and he pulled away from the hug so he wasn't hurting Sherlock. "Why was I looking for you? Seriously, you're supposed to be the genius here."

"I don't know anymore."

"But why would you leave Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked away, "Because- because you pushed me away. I thought... It doesn't matter what I thought. I was wrong and I forced myself on you and I'm sorry."

"Oh..." Realization dawned. "I didn't mean to push you away! I was only gone for 5 minutes. You have to let me think, it's not like it's a familiar feeling to me"

"I just- you were my first kiss but I'd thought you were a hallucination but you didn't seem bothered about it and you were in my bed and your pulse and respiration were high so I thought maybe you were thinking about kissing me but you told me to go to sleep and I thought maybe you were just nervous but then..."

"Oh, Sherlock…" John leaned down and kissed him lightly on the lips. "You can't just jump to conclusions just because I say that I need to clear my head." He pulled the other boy in for another hug.

John had kissed him. His brain stopped working, and then started back up, running at an alarming speed. It was perfect. He grabbed onto John and pulled him into another kiss.

This time John didn't back away, he leaned in and kissed Sherlock hard, hands in his hair.

Sherlock moaned, low in his throat, and was thinking about tackling John to the floor when a voice floated in through the open door, "William Sherlock Scott Holmes, don't you dare fuck your friend in my sitting room!" Sherlock pulled out of the kiss to glare at Mycroft, grabbed John's hand, and dragged him outside, into a cab, and back to 221B.


End file.
